


Bittersweet

by sorrens



Series: Love Thy Self as You Do Unto Others [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Gen, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Protective Crowley, Same universe as "empty almost victorious", Self-Esteem Issues, my fic where Aziraphale develops anorexia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 00:15:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20537006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrens/pseuds/sorrens
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale are being painfully human and grocery shopping when the demon stumbles across a woman with an eating disorder. This brings back painful memories for him and he resolves to help out.





	Bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

> Quick one-shot I slapped together in an hour between classes because it was on my mind.  
I love writing this series, thanks for all your lovely feedback so far <3
> 
> Trigger Warning for implied disordered eating and self-directed body shaming

When it came to grocery shopping, Crowley was about as helpful as a toddler having a tantrum in the cereal aisle.

In fact, by coincidence, the demon was having a tantrum in the cereal aisle today and a young girl seated in a trolley regarded him with distaste.

Since the apocalypse, the pair had resolved to cut down on their use of miracles, lest their departments get annoyed at all of the receipts filtering in and decide to intervene, again. That meant that Aziraphale couldn’t expect food in the fridge and wine in the cellar and the two of them were slowly having to come to terms with consumerism. That mean Crowley was finally forced to face one of his most ingenious, and frustrating inventions.

“They’re the same thing, angel.” He whined, as Aziraphale compared the boxes of 'cornflakes' and 'corn cereal'.

“They probably even came from the same factory, just pick one.”

“But then why is this one.” He held out the Kelloggs. “More expensive and more colourful.” The angel was, in fact, quite taken with the bright clashing colours of the box. Of course he’d be gullible enough to be swayed by commonplace marketing tactics.

Crowley made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, not wanting to have to explain the last century of capitalism that the other man seemed to be completely oblivious to.

“Then get the shiny one.” He hissed, grabbing the box of Kellogg’s and putting the home brand back on the shelf. Aziraphale hesitated, on the precipice of asking another question, but before he could get another word out Crowley had turned on heel and fled with the box, leaving the angel standing alone in the aisle except for the toddler in her trolley.

“Where’s your mother?” He asked curiously and swiftly commandeered the trolley until he found the answer to that question.

⁂

Crowley was running, the lights were flickering, _fuck fuck fuck_. It brought him back to Hell. It was such a stupid thing that he refused to tell Aziraphale, pretending that he was behaving like a petulant child for the sake of it. Most of the time this was correct, this time however, it was the fluorescents.

Crowded aisles like crowded hallways. Busy, not with demons and other kinds of savagery, but jarring colours and brands and cans of soup that threatened to topple off the shelves and assault their buyer. He wished he’d nudged the industry towards minimalism, no matter how much of a disaster it would have been. Humans liked the stimulation and ambience of the grocery store. He suspected Aziraphale was the same, he was always painfully human in his way about doing things. That was the real reason Crowley was holding Corn Flakes, not some half baked excuse about miracles. Aziraphale had wanted to go “full native” and, as with most things, the demon struggled to say no.

He scooted around the corner and knocked into someone.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” A bottle hit the ground and exploded, both of them jumped back in fright, Crowley taking a few seconds to realise the explosive was actually a bottle of lemonade.

Sorry, _diet_ lemonade, an important distinction that the demon was about to learn about.

“Oh no.” The girl cringed as the bottle fizzed and soaked the linoleum. In a flash it had disappeared, replacing itself on the shelf as if nothing had ever happened. She frowned, then an instant later, she seemed to accept what had happened and _maybe_ Crowley was being a bit generous with the miracles since Aziraphale had decided to give them up.

Always the antagonist.

Giving balance to the universe.

Crowley was still tense. The light above him flickered and he cursed Aziraphale and his great plan to buy breakfast cereals like the humans do.

“Are you okay?” The girl asked curiously. She had frizzy red hair, a few shades lighter than the demon’s, pale blue eyes and a trolley filled with drinks.

“Yeah, yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes falling on the cart.

“Party, hey?” He chuckled. She blushed and didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Nah, I just drink a lot of the stuff.” She admitted.

There wasn’t anything else in the trolley. Crowley pursed his lips, surveying the girl with her pained expression and sunken cheeks. She wasn’t emaciated by any means but she had the dull eyes and drawn out visage of someone who was lacking… many things but the lack of food was the most quantifiable.

Crowley gripped his box tighter, crushing the sides and found himself gazing at the ceiling, willing himself not to cry. He didn’t know what to do, and it devastated him, he shouldn’t be so nosy as to intervene, he should smile and keep on walking but he’d been there. Not himself, but with Aziraphale, who’d [spent an agonising few months battling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19857574/chapters/47025445) against the parts of him that told him not to eat and it physically hurt to think about it now. Sure, the angel was now two aisles over with a basket full of croissants and orange juice, but Crowley had never stopped being vigilant in case his inner demons reared their head again.

He’d made his choice unconsciously and dumped the cereal in the girl’s cart, convinced that he could make it right.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” He asked gently, and maybe it was too much of a loaded question, the young woman in front of him faltered. Despite having interacted with this man for ten seconds, she felt he could see in to her soul, even despite the dark glasses he hid behind. She knew exactly what he meant, and wanted nothing more than to disappear on the spot.

The words were pouring out of her mouth before she’s even had time to register. Maybe it was because nobody ever asked. Nobody gave her a second look. She was an average girl with an average body and she was suffering every single day at the hands of her habits.

“It stops me from eating too much.” She wouldn’t use the word, it made her cringe. “I drink it between meals and stuff.”

The man frowned.

“But you’re not eating enough at meals.”

She hesitated and instinct kicked in, the desire to defend herself, the thoughts that justified her weird eating habits.

“I’m not skinny or anything.” So it doesn’t matter. Plus this is stopped her from getting fatter.

“That’s not what I said.” The man shot back. “I said you’re not eating enough, I can see it in your face.”

She raised her hand, confused.

“How can you—“

“There’s no warmth in your eyes for a start.” He remarked and surveyed the frayed sweater, old jeans and unkempt hair, trying to imagine what the woman had been before she became a husk of herself.

Fuck, he wasn’t going to cry, but he was reminded of Aziraphale emerging in a sweater, ethereal glow traded for self-hatred and resignation.

“Look, you can’t justify not eating like that.” The girl looked like she was going to argue, but he continued. “Believe me, I know, it’s more complicated than that. I know. But you can’t resign yourself to a life of suffering just because you don’t feel like you haven’t suffered enough. You deserve to get help regardless of your size or shape or anything about your appearance. These habits tear at your soul,” his face was pleading “It doesn’t matter what happens on the outside, you’re dismantling yourself from the inside out.”

He paused.

“What do you like to do?”

She looked startled.

“Uhhhh,” truth was she didn’t do much of anything anymore, most of her time was spent trying not to eat, her university classes were just a helpful tool for that. “I’m studying Medieval History,”

“Do you like it?” Crowley pressed.

“Well, I think I would. I mean I signed up for it for a reason. If I didn’t have all of this—“ she gestured to the trolley full of diet soft drink. “Taking up my mind, I think I’d love it.” She said in despair.

Crowley smiled softly, hearing Aziraphale calling out his name in the distance.

“I know a good bookshop to learn about Medieval History, if you want.” He offered. “And I’m sure the owners can help out with your other problem.”

She eyed him suspiciously.

“You? You don’t look like you own a bookshop.”

Crowley burst out laughing.

“I’m Keira, by the way.” She swept her hair back and shook the man’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a common habit for disordered eaters — over reliance on diet soft drinks and coffee etc. to feel full. It was a massive source of shame for me and one of the hardest habits to break. Just a small glimpse in to that world.  
Life lesson is eat your food and don’t drink too much Pepsi Max, it’s ruined my teeth.
> 
> In the same universe as my "Aziraphale's ED" fic, it's linked when referenced.


End file.
